Never Yours
by ELF Commando
Summary: What happened during the week General ell Talaan, the Varactyl Clan, and the ELF Commandos were AWOL on Nubia? Between Klamin and Adriaan, nothing good. One-shot.


**_Su'cuy! _First off, I originally was going to use this bit in book 5, _Invader_, but I had to cut it out due to the length of the book. Initially, Adriaan & company were invited to a ball hosted by Kuat dignitaries, and they went to the dance to meet up with a contact who would give them information on the location of the cultist base. As you all know, _Invader _turned out a bit differently, but I thought it a shame never to post this piece. Also interesting to note, the original draft had Adriaan dancing with Wolf, but shortly after writing the rough draft of _Syzygy: _Chapter 4, I decided that since it had never been really insinuated or discussed until that point, it could work well as a short story. Hope you guys enjoy!**

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Suddenly she realized that the dance floor had cleared, and everyone was staring at Darc, who was wearing his usual inane smirk, and gazing at her with an intent expression on his face. His arms were outstretched invitingly, towards her.

"Kriffin' _chakaar_, is the _di'kut_ drunk?" she muttered under her breath, but Chun-be was only on his second glass. He usually didn't get unsteady until halfway into his third.

"Dance with me, babe," Darc repeated.

Angry and shocked murmurs escaped from several members of her group. It was offensive to address a Jedi General in such an informal way. Adriaan herself was too confused to formulate an appropriately gelid reply that would cool Chun-be's hot-blooded spirit.

"Dance?" Heatrian muttered incredulously. Obviously, he didn't think much of her ability to cut a rug. The rest of the Padawans had the same expression frozen on their faces. And everyone was still staring at her and Darc. Everyone had moved away from her, leaving her vulnerable, and alone, clutching an untouched mug of a good, stout Corellian ale in her two hands.

Darc's grin widened as he felt her discomfort sending oscillations through the Force. "Come on, put on your moves, General. I've taught you well."

Adriaan stumbled back, bumping into someone and spilling the ale all over the floor. The hall erupted into laughter at her maladroitness. Cursing her ill-timed moment of disgracefulness, she whirled around and made for the refresher, her face burning with ignominy. The guests parted before her, half-amused and half-fearful of the near-feral blond.

Her progress was hindered by a large hand that suddenly clapped her heavily on the shoulder. Vehemently shrugging the spindly claw away, she pushed forward, only to be stopped again with the arm now wrapped presumptuously around her waist. In a rush of horrified umbrage, she recognized the arm as belonging to Klamin.

Feeling violated, she sent an elbow crashing into his ribcage. With a slight grunt, the Padawan went down, and she whirled, fists raised, to finish him off. Grabbing him by the hair, she yanked him up so that he was forced to look up at her, to see the fury on his Master's face. To her ennui and surprise, she found that his hinky gaze did not meet the steely eyes of his transgressor.

He was looking at Darc, his chocolate irises challenging. Darc's grin slowly slid off his face, and he slouched off the floor, his turn to be embarrassed. The Shi'Odo let out the breath he had been holding, and Adriaan felt his tense muscles relaxed. He turned, and her heart pumped out adrenaline premonitorily as her eyes reported that his generic brown irises were now looking her up and down. _Checking me out, _she thought, a sick feeling like a slippery chunk of ice roiling in her gut. Until this point, she had not noticed just how strange his eyes were, had not realized he had a bizarre yellow fire gleaming behind the unassuming fallow-brown pigment. Perhaps she had never looked at him this close before. Perhaps she had never considered how his kinky hair furthermore added to his deranged countenance, how his ashy-gray skin made him look sallow and shiftless, how his monochrome pigmentation was so much sickly and pastier than her own moon-white complexion sprinkled with caramel freckles.

At the moment, Klamin didn't look much like the sweet, garrulous Padawan she knew, because there was that strange snakelike glimmer in his eyes. Why did he look at her with such a lustful, devious gleam? Why tonight? Why now?

_"Is it your duty to die? I don't think so." He yanked on her arm so that she had to turn and look him in the face. He placed his hands on her shoulders. "Don't throw your life away."_

_ "Why not? It's not like anyone would care," Adriaan said, shrugging. "You can take command of my legion if I die."_

_ "I don't want to take command of your legion; I want you to," he said angrily. "What is more, I'm tired of you acting like no one cares about you, because someone _does_ care about you, and can't live without you. That person is _me_." He gazed at her as if he stared hard enough, he could see right through her robes._

Suddenly she realized that his eyes had always been that way when he looked at her; she had just never taken note of it consciously.

As all this flashed through her mind, his hold on her lessened, and he abruptly loosed her, now standing a polite distance in front of her, ramrod straight. His mouth opened, and words spilled out, but all Adriaan registered was the odious movement of his thick, shingly lips.

"What?"

"…I don't think it wise to disappoint them, Adriaan," he repeated, in a hoarse, suggestive whisper that made her hair stand on end. He held out his arms in the same way as Darc did, but for some reason, the manner in which he did it she found more repulsively implicative. "May I have the honor…?"

Adriaan most certainly did _not_ want him to have the honor, but something about his portentously intimidating attitude got under her skin, awakening the competitive bullheadedness that had so often been her downfall, that need to crush the cockiness in her opponents, to take them down a few notches. So though her soul cringed at the thought of dancing with Klamin_ – _who was unlike _him _in every possible way – her stubborn will coerced her head to nod in cold consent.

Making a hand motion for him to follow her, she stiffly made her way to the center of the room, haughtily glaring down the amused stares the other guests gave her. Nodding at the DJ, she took her position on the floor and gestured for the 2.6 meter-tall sixteen-year-old to face her.

"What song?" the disc jockey asked.

Her mouth went dry. She didn't know very many songs…okay, maybe that was a lie, but those beats she did know were probably way out of style by now. She gulped and racked her brain, thinking back to all the random things her Padawans had said.

Klamin was apparently more acquainted the current world, for he spoke up. "Something a little more upbeat, sir, by the same artist," he said. He glanced at Adriaan and added, "And with less swearing."

An audible snicker went through the crowd.

Disc in, the song blared on the speakers, screaming through her ears. Adriaan winced. Hip-hop again. The beat was fast, the words the usual gibberish.

"Not _gibberish," _her conscience berated her, _"this used to be your style of music."_

_ Yes, but that was all so long ago, before _that _happened…_

_ "You only hate it now because it reminds you of _him."

She pushed her thoughts away angrily, forcing her mind to blank out. She didn't want to think about _that_. _That_ was all in the past. It was high time to let it go.

As Klamin stepped forward, she immediately became attune to every contrast he bore to…to Master Palgwebb. The dark caramel skin, the clean-cut features, the glowing earthy eyes – he had none of these qualities: he was pasty-skinned, flabby and oleaginous about the face, and his eyes were empty of that passion which lent a whole other element to Palgwebb's countenance…it sent a horrible pang shredding through the hole in her heart that she had supposed had been filled with duracrete years ago. It made her heart race; the hot blood rushed up to her head, and her very fingertips quivered with excitement and fear. In that brief moment of panic, she realized that she hadn't danced in years, that she hadn't danced with anyone except…that the last time she had danced was when…

Well, no matter about _her _dancing experience; she knew for a fact Klamin had never danced before, at least, not the type of dancing she was used to. She could see it in his stance. The only moves they had in common were the ones from their Jedi training.

Another giggle swept through the onlookers as the Shi'Odo scraped his boot across the tiled floor, emitting a sharp squealing noise. She shuddered at the shrill noise, but then, to her surprise, she began to laugh. Suddenly, Adriaan didn't care a piece of cake about what the others thought. This was one of those times when the opportunity to flirt with danger presented oneself, and if Adriaan was ever to admit an addiction, it would be her passion to go against her better judgement and plunge headlong into a potentially imbroglio-infested situation.

She punched her fist straight into the air, and her feet did some random steps underneath her. There was a sharp intake of breath; from a spectator or from her student partner, she couldn't tell. Her boots squealed across the tiled floor as she slid into an attack stance and, for some reason, suddenly found herself using the Lightning Kata on an imaginary opponent. Klamin flitted before her, as pliable and guileful as a snake as he constantly changed shape, answering her graceful movements with swift jabs, stopping just at her stomach and head. Adriaan ducked and swerved, avoiding the fake punches, and gliding up underneath his outstretched arm to do a slowly aimed kick at his shin. Instead, he grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around, and she grabbed his forearms and they sort of did a team spin until he let go of one shoulder and pretended to punch her in the face. She arched back, narrowly missing his fist, and she used the momentum to lift up her legs, place them against his chest, and pushed back, righting herself with a back flip.

_Oh, yeah, that's her_

_With legs yay long_

_Blond, loud and flexible_

_Face of a star, eyes like fire_

_She could be somethin', yeah…_

She groaned, recognizing the beat. The track was what she had as a Padawan referred to as their – her's and Jacen's – theme song. "Bust Mine to Kick Yours".

_Yeah, if you stick with me_

_Follow my orders to a T_

_The General of a one-chick team_

_I bust mine to kick yours so_

_Heads would turn, cams go up_

_Paparazzi for you, credits for me._

The memories surged unbidden. Dressed in a soft yellow tank dress, twirling and bopping with her Master on a gyrating dance floor…_Oh, Force, not this again._

Something slimy and slippery, clawlike, rubbed against her hips and started to work their way down and up her back…she grabbed one of the Shi'Odo's gargantuan fingers and pulled it back against the joint, hard, shoving her knee between his legs at the same time. He hopped away with a yelp, his eyes smoldering yellow ochre. He darted forward and tried to surround her with his arms, his lips breathing on her neck, "You _schutta._" She shrank from his touch and continued to dance with him, keeping an invisible barrier between her body and his. _I will not let him touch me; I am not his. I will not let a mere _boy _take advantage of me…_

She remembered little of the dance moves afterward, but remembered the complete glee she had felt at the time as adrenaline coursed through her veins, and how she was aware of the thoughts of her various Padawans. "There goes Master, breaking out her dance moves." "Moons and stars, I shall regurgitate of mortification if this titillating spectacle perseveres much longer" "If GOOD old Adriaan wasn't a Jedi, I'd call her one hot hopping-pepper" "Shut up, GOODS; that old lady isn't half as WICKED as I am." "Damn, Darc, you let that stripling barge right on in on your girl, now didn't you? You're losing your touch, old man" "Stang, it's too bad ell Talaan's a Jedi" Right now she didn't feel like General ell Talaan or Master Adriaan; she felt like an old woman who suddenly found her youth again, dancing with a snake, a cunning womp rat.

And suddenly they were no longer grooving alone; with a shout, the ELFs and the Varactyl Clan swarmed onto the platform, and the once empty pad became a swirling hive of activity as they began to bop to the catchy tune. Though occupied with maintaining a steady rhythm with her gauche partner while simultaneously avoiding physical contact with him, she glimpsed Kay and Cor whirling by, and had to backflip to avoid Aedan as he swung Marya and released her so that she was launched like a slingshot right off the floor. As Adriaan landed her flip, she heard the hapless Zabrak scream Huttese imprecations as she collided into a table and several chairs, which collapsed on top of her and hid her from her Master's sight. The Jedi grinned, then felt Klamin's breath on her hair, and had to dive quickly into a handstand, "accidentally" kicking him in the chin as her feet flew up over her head. Upside down, she saw Andora standing partially off to the side, a disapproving look on her face. Then Ember, who had also refrained from joining the party, turned to the girl and bowed, and the Jedi saw his lips move in an inaudible inquiry. The Padawan considered, then nodded solemnly, and the clone graciously took her by the arm and led her onto the floor. As Adriaan reverted and allowed Klamin to whirl her around, she thought she spied Ember and Andora dignifiedly performing a ballroom dance, but the almost comical glimpse of the thin, grave, small girl twirling in the arms of tall, muscular soldier went by so swiftly the Jedi didn't know for sure whether the dim lights of the club were playing tricks on her eyes or not.

She spun around once more, the Shi'Odo's gangly arms stopping her and bending her backwards into one of those dramatic dips that she had read about in books. She couldn't say that she enjoyed that part at all – her style of dancing was the more upbeat, gymnastics-infused leaping and spinning around, not this more romantic genre – because it made her all too aware of his intense attraction towards her, and it only made her feel worse that she hadn't caught it earlier. It was also rather uncomfortable knowing that the boy who was holding her was her own Padawan, a teenager who had sixteen years under his belt but had the maturity level of a toddler.

_And hands and eyes he can't seem to keep to himself…_

The music died away. Klamin J'Oli stood on the dance floor, holding the Jedi in his arms, whose yellow-infused blue eyes looked back into his and smiled. Her lungs expanded as they took in a slow breath.

"That was rather…interesting," she murmured. The sultry note in her voice made his heart soar, but his hopes were dashed as the next word that flew out of her mouth was "_Padawan._"

"You danced very well, _Adriaan_," Klamin said, saying her name through clenched teeth.

Suddenly the room exploded into a thunderous round of applause. The ELF Commandos and Varactyl Clan took up the chant for encores.

"Invader! Invader!"

But the rush of adrenaline had faded. Self-conscious, Adriaan pushed him away and stood, the blood-red flush of her epinephrine-infused skin fading fast. She bowed to him, muttering thanks, and exited in the typical Jedi Master fashion. Reality came crashing back down on the Apprentice as he stood, once again, alone.

He couldn't see her anymore, but he knew where she had gone. The feelings that he had kept in his heart ever since the day he had first met hersuddenly flooded him, the attraction which he had harbored in his heart for over a year but did not recognize until recently. Ignoring the shouts from his clan-mates, he stepped off the floor and pushed his way through the crowd, out to the balcony that overlooked the moonlit sky.

_I can't let this night end yet. I have to face this. I can't live day by day seeing her and not acknowledging this attraction; I have to let her know that I…_

She was there, as he had preternaturally sensed. He hesitated, wondering what he was going to say and how he would say it.

He wondered what she was doing. She was distracted, or she would have sensed him by now. But what could possibly be diverting her? The moon? Sure, it was beautiful, but not distractingly lovely, as she was to him.

She was resting her head on her elbow, but her right hand she held a few inches from her face. Was she injured? He stepped closer, concerned.

No, she wasn't hurt, but she was definitely in pain. She was staring intently at the tattoo scarring her from her index finger to her forearm. Everyone had wondered where she had gotten such a unique marking, but she had never talked about it. If she caught anyone looking at it, she hid it in the folds of her cloak. How could a tattoo cause so much shame? It was just a spiraled marking curving around her wrist; almost like a bracelet. He personally thought the sable ophidian set off the paleness of her skin perfectly.

"Do you wonder why I hate this tattoo so much?"

Her voice startled him. So she had sensed him after all. She was amazingly alert, even for a Jedi. Some of her Padawans said she was also a mind-reader; Klamin wondered if she was attune to how much she ruled his mind.

"It confuses me why you should be ashamed of it," he said carefully.

"'_Ka'trasu trattor gotal'u mun werda_' – 'the setting sun casts long shadows'" The remark was cryptic, catching him off-guard.

"What?"

She slowly lowered her hand and set it on the rim of the balcony. Her head turned, her bright blue eyes, flecked with yellow lights, gleaming keenly at him.

"It glows yellow-red when I access the dark side," she said, choosing not to explain her remark – where deliberate or unintentional, the Shi'Odo did not know. "But it is only this insignificant black when I am part of the light side. Why?" she seemed to be asking an old question to herself. "Is it because the light side is weaker than the dark side?"

"I think it is because the light side of the Force is unpretentious," Klamin said decidedly. He moved forward and rested his arms on the balcony so that their shoulders touched. Being in such close contact with her was electrifying. "The tattoo glows because the dark side is ostentatious, not more powerful."

"Perhaps," she said in that lukewarm tone she adopted which always frustrated him. He always felt that _everyone _should care about his opinions. He never did understand her indifference to subjects which greatly fascinated him.

"I know it is so," he said firmly, with no room for reconsideration.

"As I have said many times before, your personal beliefs cannot be construed as facts," she said with a shrug.

"By that logic, your statement that my opinions are not facts is merely your own personal belief, which therefore cannot be interpreted as a proof," he argued, complacent that his Master – beautiful as she was – was not quite intelligent enough to comprehend his circular logic.

I never told you how I got the tattoo, did I?" she said, deliberately ignoring Klamin, which exacerbated his frustration with her detachment. She said this almost casually, but he felt the weight hidden behind her words. She glanced at the tattoo, her hair caressing his face gently as the wind lifted it up. "I was enslaved by sith pirates. They had a big ceremony in which I was fully initiated as a slave to the dark side. It was against my will." Her lip curled. "The ritual included blood libation. They drew blood from Ja – one of my companions, and collected it into a cup, which they gave to me and forced me drink, and then they used some sort of acid to burn the tattoo onto my arm. And then they…" She struggled and fell silent.

If Klamin hadn't witnessed his family being murdered in cold blood and spent the past year experiencing the horrors of war, he would have felt sick from hearing such a description. Instead, he could only pat her sympathetically on the back, recalling his own agony as a young boy.

He hadn't had a childhood, and she didn't seem to have had much of one, either, so they were even on that count. They were also stranded in the middle of a war that didn't have much to do with them, and yet every day, they sacrificed their lives, their time, their memories, and their innocence, for the sake of billions of people that they would never know.

He looked at his companion, and found it took him several seconds to remember how his lungs worked. Adriaan, though her soft, pink lips were rarely inclined to smile – and her eyes were often flinty with some sort of hardened, furious grief – had always been a rather attractive female, much to the chagrin of many males who sought in vain to impress an unimpressable woman. But the soft contrast of glow and umbrage created by the moonlight brought a color and luster to her face and eyes and skin that made her absolutely bewitching. Combined with the creeping scent of gloam blossoms and the subtle soothingness of twilight, the effect was too much for the pent-up emotions surging within Klamin's youthful heart. Taking a deep breath, he opened his mouth to speak, to unleash the torrent of words he had longed and feared to say…

"Klamin_," _Adriaan said quietly, her voice only a hoarse whisper, yet it still commanded authority enough for the shapeshifter to snap to attention and listen with open ears and closed lips. "I want you to promise me something."

_I promise anything; to protect you, to be ever at your side from this moment on, anything! Just name it! _The Shi'Odo burned to declare it, but his tongue cleaved to his dry throat, and he could only whisper, "Of course, Adriaan. Anything."

"No."Adriaan turned and faced him, the moonlight illuminating the blueness in her eyes and in contrast muting the sun-sparks in her irises. It made her appear young, entirely innocent, full of sadness and purity. "Not Adriaan. We've been through this before. I am your Master."

"But I'm only a year younger than you –"

She held up a finger before he could continue. "Padawan, you are a young man full of talents, ambition and promise, yet I am worried for you. It is not your strength of mind and body that concerns me – though to be honest, there is great room for improvement in both – but the structure of your heart.

"It is a rare gift indeed to have the capacity to love, to be overbrimming with compassion as you do, but it can also be a curse. You are steadfast and loyal and would do anything for the people you love, but let me ask you something: say these people – or person, _woman – _that you swore to protect, that you swore your heart and body to…was killed, or was already taken by another man. If the person you pledged yourself to was taken away, what then would you do with your life?"

"I would not live to see that day in the first place," Klamin answered promptly.

She shook her head, smiling bleakly. "And that is your one great weakness."

"'Weakness'?" The shapeshifter drew himself up indignantly. "To pledge your life to someone, to sweat blood_, _to even _die _for them – what can be weak or uncourageous in that?"

"That is surely not weakness," she replied with gravity. "But Klamin, coupled with the suicidal inclination that your life is _nothing _when that person is gone, that all you have to give to that person is your death…_that _is weakness."

"Not only death," the Shi'Odo contradicted, "but also a life of service and sacrifice."

"That is not only part of what it means," she said. She turned away, her head tilted back to observe the moon. "Klamin, anyone who would be a martyr is noble and praiseworthy, but there is a higher, harder, more courageous vow than to protect 'to the death' Indeed, those who are greater than martyrs are those who protect 'to the life'"

"'To the life'?" The Padawan had always fancied himself a budding philosopher, but he found that this strange concept was beyond his comprehension. "I do not see how that differs with my own notion of self-sacrifice."

"In a way, it is much the same as your definition, in all ways but one, and that is what is most painful to endure in all the existence of reality." A breeze swept across the balcony, pulling her long golden hair across her face. "'To the life' means that, even if that certain someone most precious to you disappears – or worse, betrays you – you still have the strength and purpose to live, to fight to your last breath to try to get that person back. And in the event that person is killed, you live to preserve and honor the memory of him or her."

Klamin took a step back, his brows drawing together in a frown. "That is an impossible demand! I understand perfectly that if someone I swore to protect was captured, of course I would do my best to rescue her…but if she had been murdered due to my failure to protect her? Never! And if she had betrayed me? I would probably _kill _her if she dared to spurn me." He stopped to catch his breath, then took the courage to say, "My purpose in life is to protect you, Adriaan…without that purpose I might as well be dead. I do not see how 'to the life' is better, or even humanly possible. It is an impossible and unfair demand of a person."

She was silent for a moment, letting the sounds of the night fill the spaces. Then, "I hear what you say, Padawan, and I understand your sentiments. It is indeed an unfair and unattainable demand to serve a person to the life, but it is an impossibility that a strength of will can ultimately dominate. Well do I know this, because I have served someone to the life. I continue to do so, with every breath I draw, with every beat that tears through my heart, with every thought that moves through my brain…it is always, always, for his protection."

Klamin stared at the girl, his breath caught in his throat. He scarcely dared to speak.

"I did not and do not expect you to understand 'to the life', for it is implausible for anyone to understand unless they have experienced that degree of love and suffering for themselves," she said. "It is because of this aspect of knowing it that makes 'to the life' the most agonizing of all vows, because it is always better to learn through others' experiences than through your own." She paused to let it sink in. "Klamin, not many can boast that they realized the love of their life at the tender young age of fourteen, but by the Force_, _I came to that glorious and agonizing revelation at that stage in adolescence. It was thrice torturous for me due to the nature of the Jedi Order, the philosophy of disconnection from the galaxy, the tenets which stated that attachments were taboo. It was drilled into me every day of my life that I was to feel no romantic inclinations toward anyone, yet every second of my existence I was reminded of my mortal nature, that drive to have connections, to _be _attached. Everyone thinks the Jedi are a higher order of beings, immortal in a way, because we _appear _to not be tempted and vulnerable to such things. But all Jedi encounter and suffer the loss of loved ones daily. I can testify, as I have seen it in others as well as myself. We cannot deny our mortal nature – to do so would also be to live without compassion, which is a key asset in Jedi philosophy. But this is old news; this you already know. I am merely filling the night with empty words.

"You wish to know the one man I truly loved, that I have loved since the age of fourteen. Be dissatisfied, because it is none of your business. His name is irrelevant; all you need to know is that I swore my life to him, only to have that vow betrayed. The particulars you need not know, but I have clung to the shreds of that promise, and on its existence do I continue to exist. I do not know if he is alive or dead, friend or foe; all I know is that I live from one day to the next, waiting, watching, praying that I will be allowed to return to his side. I continue to pray and hope even when there is none to be found. _That _is what 'to the life' is. _That _is a pain you cannot, perhaps never will, comprehend. And yet I pity you for it."

His throat tight, Klamin choked, "Why am I pitied?"

Her eyes connected to his, blue sky shot with golden suns boring into the deep richness of brown earth. "Because if you never be this pain, you will also never be this love."

"You think I don't know what love is? How can you say that, when for the past year and a half you have known nothing of the pain I carry in my heart, the pain that is the result of something I feel for you, but can never express because it is not fair to _you_ to do so." His tone was low, steady, calm in contrast to the volcano raging in his blood. "I have done _everything _in my power to make you happy, to make you content, to keep the glue of your clan from dissolving as a result of pursuing a romance with you! I have called you Master when you have insisted upon it, I have treated you as a friend, I have not made any advances, not even when I felt my heart would burst with this fire that burns for _you, _Adriaan –"

He stepped toward her, but suddenly felt his body smash against an invisible duracrete wall. The impact sent him flying backwards, landing hard on his back so that his eyes were left gazing at the cold, distant stars.

"And that brings us to the promise I ask you to make," a voice just as cold as the stars said from above him. "I apologize for causing you pain, and it grieves me to cause you more, but I _must _insist that from now on you refer to and treat me as your Master_, _even in your heart. You cannot harbor any attraction and expect to keep it secret and suppressed forever. Eventually, it will be out in the open, and it will cause discord among the other team members. It is bad enough that the Wicked Club notices."

"You can't make me promise this," Klamin said through clenched teeth, to stop the tears from spilling. "I love you, Adriaan; I cannot deny that fact."

"Well, neither can I deny the fact that I cannot love you any more than I already do: I can only love you as the little brother I never had."

"You won't even give me a chance!" the shapeshifter cried out. "You are insane, holding on to the memory of someone long gone! Obsessing over that person has and only will bring you grief and pain! I promise to ever cause you tears or bloodshed, Adriaan. I can give you what he never gave you: I can give you _happiness."_

"What do _you_ know of what will make me happy? What do _you_ know of my previous relationship?" she asked, the frostiness in her tone melting with the heat of her words. "Why do you think this hurts so much? It is because since the day I was with him I was the happiest I ever was in my entire life, and I know those moments are gone, perhaps never to be replicated. Klamin, you would try your hardest, but you would never make me happy; only one person can do that. '_The setting sun casts long shadows' – _do you know what that means? My past would overshadow anything you would try to do for me. Even just dancing with you tonight brought on a freshness of pain because the song reminded me of _him._"

Tears swathed his vision, distorting her shapely, tall figure to a mere blur of pale golds and whites. The roar of a buoyant, peppy club beat issued mockingly from the doors that led to the balcony, taunting the grief that was rending his heart in two. "But if you can only love _him, _show me his picture!" he cried, a desperate thought forming in his constantly scheming mind. "I am a Shi'Odo, and I will take on his form permanently – you need not see me in any other shape; I know how my constant morphings cause you headaches, anyhow – and so your eyes will at least be fooled into thinking that I am your beloved. It will not be a perfect mimicry, but it will at least lessen the pain of isolation."

Her face colored. "How _dare _you!" she hissed. "How _dare_ you suggest I only loved him for his looks! He was more to me than flesh-and-blood; he was my friend, my vanguard, someone who experienced and shared every blissful moment and waking pain in my life! You may be shapeshifter, Klamin, but you can _never _clone his essence, can never actually _be _him."

Klamin stopped, his heart disbelieving. "So you would throw away even the possibility of being happy? You choose to love without any hope of it ever being returned?"

"There is always hope that it will be returned," she said staunchly. "He _will _return, someday, and then you might understand why I am so fatally loyal to him. But I do not expect you to understand undying fealty now, since your impossible offer to change your own soul has made it clear that you cannot be honest even to yourself. You cannot swear fidelity to someone if you are not willing to be faithful to your self, first." She took him suddenly by the shoulders, her gaze dark and solid as a night without stars. "Klamin, even if you cannot comprehend anything I said before, you _must _understand this," she said vehemently, her fingers knitting into the cloth of his tunic. "You cannot win my heart; it is already broken. You and I chose the Jedi path, which is so narrow and treacherous that we _must _walk it alone. So whether my heart has been taken by another or not, I will still _never _be yours."

"I cannot help my feelings!" he yelled, breaking the stillness of the evening. "You cannot command me to stop loving you!"

She stepped back, her hands held palm-outward in a sign of peace. "I did not command you to do so," she said. "I merely warn you that pursuing me will only bring you grief."

"But as long as I love you, I am compelled…I _must _pursue you," he said, folding his arms across his chest.

"Then _that _is not love," said she, sharply. "That is merely infatuation; a passing attraction. It will fade in time."

"You underestimate me," he hissed bitterly. "Do you think I am some fickle teenager, whose devotion oscillates like a pendulum, going from one girl to the next?"

"No," Adriaan said. "I merely warn you to watch your tongue. But tell me: do you truly love me as you so profess?"

"Oh, yes!" he said, falling at her feet. "I will do anything for you!"

"Then if you so love me, do not try to win me," said she, drawing away as he embraced her knees. "It disrespects my dignity as a Jedi and a woman to have my loyalty – to both the Jedi code and to the man whom I swore my life to – thus assaulted by your enticements. For as long as I hope for _his _return, your temptations have no power over me."

"But what if he never comes back?" he challenged her. "What if you waste your life with all this _waiting?"_

She sighed and looked at him with a grim smile. "But isn't that what _you_ are doing?"


End file.
